


The Basic Principle

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Maglor [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:02:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Maedhros explains that he isn't that complicated, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Basic Principle

I am sure that I was not completely lucid at the time. My senses wafted blearily borne upon the fumes of the drugging medicine that dulled them. I felt only the slightest stabs of pain amidst the numbing fog that pervaded my mind.

Occasionally, I would emerge from the torpor to see one of my kin by my side, patiently tending my wounds. I would try to speak, but then I would slide back into my drugged numbness again. I did recognize them. Artanis and Irissë came in the mornings. Usually it was Atarinkë and Turkáno in the afternoons who watched over me. Nolofinwë would come in at all times of the day to make sure that I lacked for nothing. All through these comings and goings, Macalaurë would be present by my side, silently aiding me with bodily functions and my needs. At nights, when he was exhausted and too weary to stay with me, he would be relieved by my dearest cousin, Findekáno. 

Nights were never easy for me following my return to the shores of The Mithrim. I would slide into horrifying dreams when the hold of the drugs waned. Most of them were related to what I had been through. But some were flashes of pain, of shame, of unprecedented passion. In my usual nightmares, I had both my hands. The dreams usually ended with one being ripped off. But in the more vivid dreams, I had only one hand.

I dreamt that my arms were tied by leather to something. I had no freedom of movement in legs too. Vivid flashes of pain, of being torn apart and the much-hated scent of semen, sweat and satiation tormented my drugged mind. Whenever I had these dreams, I would scream the loudest. It took Macalaurë’s continual singing all through the night to bring even the slightest semblance of peace to my ravaged mind. I was often aware of being held down as I thrashed wildly, fighting against the unseen tormentors.

Days passed and I managed to recover some of my past lucidity. Willfully, I embraced the pain and began lowering the dosage of my drugging draughts. The increased awareness was heavily bought with knife-sharp pain. But I did not care. 

The dream of nonconsensual intimacy returned to haunt me. One night, caught as I was in the throes of that horrible nightmare, I thrashed about in my sheets and found that I could not move a limb. For a moment I thought that I was back in Angband. Pulling myself away from the ridge of insanity that made me panic, I calmed. The stench of liquor stained my senses. I could not open my eyes for they were bound and it hurt. 

“Scream, Maitimo,” a slightly slurred voice commanded lazily as I felt something nudge my clenched thigh.

I gasped in horror as I recognized the voice. I must have been entirely stunned that I did not even register the fingers that gripped my member and began stroking forcefully. I faded into dull blackness as I let my senses drift away. Detachment, that had been how I had borne my ordeal in the enemy’s fortress. My screams seemed a stranger’s screams to me as I succumbed to the furious possession that was driving me into near death. After I had screamed twice, something was stuffed into my mouth to prevent further. 

I held back my tears of fury, shame and helplessness as my own flesh responded to him, to his wild domination, to his possession.

He fell atop me like a limp corpse and shoved his fingers into my mouth to take away the gag. I flinched as his lips devoured me in a grotesque parody of a lovers’ kiss.

“Until tomorrow, cousin-mine…” his murmur was lost on me as I plunged into the dark depths of self-hatred and humiliation.

 

 

“How are you, brother?” Macalaurë’s voice was slightly worried as he inspected the bruises on my stomach, “You must have hurt yourself with something last night again.”

“I do that in my sleep?” I asked him warily as he began briskly feeding me the bowl of broth an aide had brought in.

“Findekáno says so. It has happened when he watches over you at nights. You seem to grow restless and,” Macalaurë cleared his throat soothing his words with a warm smile, “Possessed by your memories, according to him. I have never seen you thus so far. He is forced to hold you down when it is too wild.”

“It is your music, it soothes me. Our cousin’s harp tries my nerves,” I smiled wanly for his sake, all the while my mind churning with the implications of what had happened.

It had not been the first time then. My cousin had surely made it into a habit since I had been brought back from the enemy’s lair. I took in deep breath as I began balancing my options. I had decided to step down in my uncle’s favour. This would mean that the crown would pass onto Findekáno. And my father’s oath bound us all. We could not afford to have a rift between us, especially when my cousin took the throne. I was no fool; my uncle, I knew, burned with too much of the passions of our house…he would not survive the Ages.

I would be silent. I knew that Findekáno did slake his lusts on lads barely of age. Perhaps my body would serve to protect those poor souls. I would concentrate on improving my health. Once I was up and about, I would not have to endure this.

And above all, he was my cousin. My valiant cousin, who had saved me. Perhaps on baser level, this was primal repayment for the valour he had shown. I know that I did not deserve any better. I was too tainted to be edified. If my body served a purpose, as broken as it was, thus be it.

“Findekáno has been drowning his grief in drinking since…since your news crippled his soul,” my brother said quietly, “he has loved you for a long time.”

I gazed quietly at his sternly austere, yet aristocratic features. Our father’s visage, tempered by love and music. His features were hollowed out, mourning for our father and grief over my ordeals had left him a shadow of what he once had been. I would not burden him with more.

“I love my cousin, Macalaurë, but not in that manner.” I smiled as I bent to let him comb my hair. 

Of course, there was little point in telling him about my personal nightmare.

 

 

I managed a passable smile as Findekáno walked to my side. I could sense my uncle’s sharp eyes keeping a watch on me. 

“Cousin-mine,” Findekáno saluted me cheerfully as he handed me a goblet of fine wine, “A toast to your recovery.”

“I am eternally grateful to you, Findekáno,” I smiled more warmly as I held the goblet to his lips, “Without your valour, where would I be?”

He laughed and sipped from the goblet I held. The watching crowd erupted into cheers. The Noldor were once again united. A moment later, my cousin was embracing me enthusiastically before dragging me to the dance floor.

I did not learn diplomacy for nothing.

 

 

As each bastion of my kin fell, I watched our people grow ruthless and desperate. Even stoic Macalaurë was chafing at our defeats. I found myself growing increasingly detached and calm. I did grieve for the fallen, but my courage never wavered as I rode to meet the enemy. They feared me and with good reason. What can frighten a soul who has already endured everything? 

The only blemish in the impregnable fortress that was my courage took the shape of the nightmares that continued to haunt me. Unlike what people believed, I did not return to my ordeal in Angband during those nights. What I relived was my cousin’s drunken cruelty.

It did take a long while to succumb to the inevitable; My brother’s love. More than the matter of incest, it was my own fear to trust that made me hold him at an arm’s length. I feared him more than I feared Findekáno. My cousin’s faults could be overlooked by simple diplomacy. But if my brother chose to tread the same path as Findekáno had, I knew that I would never recover. I loved him too much.

Still, I managed to muster courage enough to celebrate a night of intimacy before we rode to war. It was then that I realized the difference between lust and love. 

 

 

I remember rushing through the gory melee of battle during the Nírnaeth Arnoediad to the flames that had consumed my cousin. A part of me, that small part which was still to achieve detachment, was rejoicing at Findekáno’s death. But the greater part of me was mourning the death of one of my most powerful allies.

 

“You are not marred by defeat, cousin,” Artanis’s voice broke into my thoughts as we watched the smoke rising from the funeral pyres of my brothers in the woods of Doriath.

I turned to face her as I spoke quietly, “Defeat is a relative term that matters only to the historians. What matters to us as individuals is how we face defeat. I fear nothing, Artanis, and nothing can break me.”

I did fear something, but I was not going to tell her that. She had been through the same and she had found love and courage again. I envied her spirit.

“Macalaurë told me about the incident in the tent…” her words trailed away as she mentally weighed her options, “I would say that there is yet one more barrier that your courage has to break.”**

(**tent pegs – The Journal of Maglor, Chapter 7)

I did not reply as I averted my eyes from her clear sapphire gaze, thinking uncomfortably of what I knew she was hinting at. 

“Nolofinwë once told me that his love for your father grew a hundred times over when Fëanáro trusted him unconditionally,” she said cautiously, “You are your father’s son. But even more, you are the only one of your family who has inherited the temperament of the Broidress. You can trust unconditionally. If you can conquer your fear to trust, then neither the wheels of fate nor the will of the Valar can break you.”

 

Unlike most of my family, I have never had any qualms in accepting well-meant advice that could benefit me. I trusted Artanis’s counsel. 

After Doriath, I had a premonition of death. I decided to bury my fears and live life as I had never done before. Macalaurë was suspicious of my demeanor, I think. But never more than when I introduced a topic at one suppertime.

“I still think that immortality is a curse,” Elros was saying with conviction as he debated with Macalaurë.

I had leant back and was fondly watching my brother explain the advantages of immortality when Elrond asked me, “Lord Maitimo, what do you think?”

Elros and Macalaurë stopped their debate as they turned to face me, their expressions curious. I said boldly, “It is a gift. You have time enough to conquer your fears.”

“But our fears increase as we gain exposure to life!” Elros argued, “A babe fears nothing in the world. But as it grows, it learns to fear war, disease, hunger, judgment and much more.”

“The child learns to fear as she or he grows, but with age and experience the person will conquer those fears. A novice fears his first war. But to a veteran of many wars, one more is just one more,” I sipped my wine thoughtfully.

“So you mean to say that you have conquered all your fears in your long life?” Elrond asked me dubiously.

“Not all, but I am trying to,” I shrugged as I rose from my seat, “I believe I have a fear of tent pegs. I vow to conquer that tonight,” I glanced at my brother who had blanched considerably.

Elrond and Elros were staring at me wide-eyed. I smiled as I left them. The poor children were often subjected to my lofty philosophies. But this time, it was a down-to-earth matter. I suppressed a laugh as I heard my brother’s flustered tones trying to quench the children’s curiosity.

 

 

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?” Macalaurë demanded furiously as he strode into my chambers.

I remained seated at my desk and watched his features with rising amusement. In his rage, he resembles our father more than anyone else. The flash of his black eyes, the throbbing of the artery in his throat, the high colour in his normally pale features and the frantic pacing all remind me of our father.

I rose to my feet and said calmly, “I meant every word of what I spoke there. I hope you will help me.”

“You are mad,” my brother stated flatly as his eyes blazed in fury.

I did not reply as I walked to the large bed and began disrobing calmly. Usually it was he who would perform that task for me. Since doing so with one hand was tedious and since it was incredibly more pleasing to have his hands brushing me, I preferred it so. He cleared his throat and went to lock the door before striding to my side. I ceased undoing the ties on my robe and let my hand fall limp. 

He murmured in stupefaction as he looked over my shoulder and saw the ropes on the bedposts, “You presume too much, Russandol.”

“I will not die a coward who failed to trust the single person who is the most important in my life,” I said truthfully as his fingers completed the task I had begun.

His eyes flashed with respect and an emotion so pure that I felt a constriction in my chest. I knew then that I had done the right thing. 

It did take quite some self-control to not panic when I felt the ropes being wound over my limbs. But I was resolved. I refused to let myself hide behind the mask of detached calm that had always served me in the past.

I would trust him.

The fear must have shown in my eyes because he reassured me with a silent, ephemeral caress on my forehead with those trembling fingers. I nodded solemnly and trusted him with all I was.

He lingered for a marvelously long time learning and relearning the planes of my body, first with his fingers and then with his warm lips. I commanded myself not to shut my eyes and retreat into the stoic calm that had been once my reaction. Each caress won a shudder and I arched into his touch. His hair tickled my sides as he bent over to press a kiss to my forehead. I found strange sounds escaping my lips as I surrendered to the mastery of his touch. 

When he finally descended and gripped my hip bones, I had lost my fear to desire. His eyes met mine once before he broke that final barrier that lay between us. I was lost to ecstasy and pleasure as we began the descent into the mind-shattering collapse that follows the pinnacle.

Usually, we lie quietly and drift off to sleep. But that day, he rose with considerable effort and set about untying the ropes and rubbing the circulation back into my limbs. I had been lingering on the edges of consciousness and the soothing circular strokes he made on my skin sent me into blessed repose. The last thing that I heard was his musical laughter as I drifted into sleep.

 

 

“A good morning to you,” a pair of highly content black eyes was examining me languidly.

I suppressed a yawn as I contemplated his handsome features. His perfection complemented my imperfection. His fiery temperament was a foil to my calm diplomacy. 

“I hope you are well,” he continued uncertainly as his eyes drifted to my wrist.

“Perfectly well, I assure you,” I smiled to dispel his fears and mustered the energy to press my lips to the nearest part of him. I ended up grazing his nose with my lips earning a chuckle.

“Why did you do this now?” he seemed to be in that unrelenting interrogatory mood.

I am a diplomat. I can usually think of several correct answers before deciding on the most politically correct one. But now I found that I could think of only one.

“You are the basic principle of my universe.” There, I had said it. His eyes widened in shocked surprise before a sincere smile quirked his lips.

“You do flatter me,” his voice was warm and filled with the most noble of all emotions, love.

“I hope so. Flattery is the only skill that will avail me in this suit. I cannot hope to match your many admirers in any other aspect,” I said teasingly as I threw my arm on his torso in utter contentment.

Fingers ruffling my hair paused for a moment and my arm felt his chest rumble with suppressed mirth. I threw him a questioning glance.

He shook his head and said in quiet sincerity, “I am glad that you have put the past behind you. I have rarely been happier in my life. Now you will certainly stand before those unfeeling Valar and speak that you fear nothing.”

I felt a sudden constriction in my throat as the magnitude of his words breached my senses. I had truly conquered my fear to trust. I did not even feel the usual prickle of unease when I thought of Findekáno who had destroyed my trust. I merely pitied him.

“Without you, I would have fallen apart long ago,” I mused aloud.

“A pity then that I am your brother. It is forbidden,” his words were unusually somber and held deep sorrow.

I rose to face him and said quietly, my tone ringing with conviction, “The laws of the Gods cannot rule the passions of our hearts.”

“I believe that is your self-coined slogan,” his eyes lightened in wry amusement before he leant forward to capture my entirely unworthy lips in a searing kiss that left me happily disoriented. 

I melted into his arms with perfect contentment. I could sense the doom of our house lingering over me like a storm waiting to break in all fury. I did not care. I fear nothing, not even the Void. The only thing I had ever feared was to trust another completely. My brother had broken that fear. 

In the end, courage was all about one basic principle; to trust the one who means the most to you.

For what is trust, but a manifestation of love?

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Miriel The Broidress – Finwë’s first wife, mother of Fëanáro.  
Nírnaeth Arnoediad – The war in which Fingon the Valiant dies.  
Nolofinwë – Fingolfin   
Artanis – Galadriel   
Findekáno – Fingon  
Macalaurë – Maglor   
Russandol, Maitimo – Maedhros  
References:  
The incident of the tent pegs – The Journal of Maglor, Chapter 7.


End file.
